I have all the time in the world. How about you?
There is a theme to Aylin's threats and vows of vengeance that I've noticed and that I want to share.
Do what you will. I cannot prevent you. But you know as well as I, I will come for you. One day.
That one, for example, is for Balthazar, while she is imprisoned.
I cannot prevent you. But I can advise you. Be careful to whom you yoke your fate. One day, when he is severed from me, Ketheric will die. I will not. And when I am freed, I will remember whose recompense to claim.
Did you expect me to beg? To cry? To plead? For what. I accept my fate - for now. But the life of a divine is longer than you can fathom, Sharran. And this cold chapter will close, one day.
And those are for you, when you've yet to harm her, when she's still only warning you off. But then, if you choose to try to kill her, like so many before you:
Was it everything you hoped for? Was it sweet, Sharran, to murder a paladin of Selûne - her daughter - her sword? Congratulations - your mistress Shar will write your name on her hand. And I? I will come for you. When the time is right.
The next bit depends on your character's gender:
When your sons are grown and your beard is long and wiry; when you cannot hold your nightly water and your nose grows as long as your weary, weary days…
When your daughters are grown and your chin sprouts whiskers dark - when your teeth are yellow as corn and your sleep grows short and your days are long and weary, so weary…
When your children are grown and your eyes are weak; when your nose grows as long as your weary, weary days…
Ultimately, your fate will be the same:
That is when this immortal will visit you, Sharran. That is when I will show you what it is to be afraid.
All these long-term promises of one day, coupled with inevitability.
I find it so striking that most of Aylin's threats include her flaunting and flexing her immortality (as well as her flawless, long memory) over whoever has wronged her.
Present your weapon, soldier. Plunge it into the Nightsong. I cannot stop you. But know this: I never forget a face.
HAH! Are you afraid, Sharran? Do you rattle and jump at the realisation that an immortal has your face emblazoned in her mind forevermore?
Everything is but a passing inconvenience to her, she claims, even a century of imprisonment and torment. Outlasting, outliving - that is simply what she does and what she chooses to intimidate with. Promising to wait until you are old and decrepit, until after you've experienced all the vagaries of age that she never will, leaving her sword hanging over your head throughout the entire miserable lifespan that she has permitted you to have.
Then, if you wrong her in a very heinous way, there's the extreme one of outliving not only you, but killing and extinguishing your entire bloodline in order to obliterate every trace of you from existence:
WHEN I AM FREE, I WILL DESTROY YOU! I WILL MURDER YOU, AND YOUR CHILDREN, AND THEIR CHILDREN BESIDE!
I will rip this world apart, plank and beam, until every iota of your being is scalded by my light. This is my promise. This is my vow.
Over and over, Aylin builds her oaths of vengeance on the foundations of an utter, even proud, certainty that she will see her foe end, one way or another, due to her nature and the simple fact of her own endlessness. This is the well she keeps coming back to.
And I find all of this, this consistent insistence on it, so striking and ironic, because one of her other main emotional threads is being thoroughly enraptured by and devoted to and just so completely in love with a mortal. One who will age and die and pass into memory just like all the targets of her rage - if I think of Isobel when I re-read all of that dialogue up there, it seems to cut both ways so deeply. But then there's the extra element that every single one of these is spoken when she either knows or is (incorrectly) convinced that Isobel is dead. Isobel, who didn't get to grow old, and who is both an anchor to humanity and a very painful reminder of the truth of Aylin's situation being twofold.
Aylin will outlast what she hates, yes, but she will outlast what she loves as well.
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I don't think I've really sat down and let enough sink in about how brutally real Riz's whole deal is this season. It's a kid raised by his single mother, reckoning with his father's absence, who never had any true friends until this gang of bumblefucks. And now he's faced with a future where his friends failing school is not the problem, no, what's really stressing him out is figuring out how the hell he gets it to where they all end up in the same place. How does he keep them together. Because at the end of the day simply passing isn't gonna cut it if they all go down different roads and he ends up alone all over again.
The feeling of being a kid who has been bullied their entire life, finally acquiring good friends who make you happy, and then the nauseating dread and panic when you start to realize that it can't last forever. Murph you fucking criminal.
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Asexual Killer, as my offering for pride month🏳️🌈
I'm incredibly busy this month so it had to be an incredibly short one-shot- do not expect me to publish any writing again(listen to this bozo not being confident in their own writing😒)..
Horror pushed Killer onto the bed, Killer's legs wrapping around the biggers torso as they passionately made out. Horror then pulled away, a string of saliva left behind. He paused, staring at Killers expression. Uncertainty.
"Killer?," He called out, snapping the other out of his trance. He tilted his head with slight concern. "You doin' fine?,"
"What, 's there a problem?," Killer's grin sharpened and he almost looked offended. Horror sighed, leaning back to give Killer some more space.
"If ya don't wanna do this you can just tell me ya know," He reassured. Killer's face just scrunched up as he looked another direction. Horror narrowed his bonebrows in return.
"Killer, look at me," He caressed Killer's cheek. "Tell me what's wrong."
Killer stayed silent for a moment before his face softened, an almost sad look on his face. "I'm sorry," His everlasting grin turned into a frown.
"I don't- I know I make a lot of dirty jokes and act like a fucking whore, but the thought of actually putting something in the hole makes me incredibly uncomfortable. It- disgusts me?? I'm not opposed to getting heated but then- I- uhh..." He stopped, staring up at Horror with wide eyes. And there was a moment of silence.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner??," Horror raised a brow. "Because that ruins the joke!" Killer exclaimed quickly as a way to defend himself.
"That's a terrible reason... Well, if you don't want to we can stop,"
"No, no, just- I just don't want to.... god, this is complicated.." Killer buried his face in his own hands. "Take your time," Horror lightly pet Killer.
"I want to continue.... just.. no actual action, ya get what I mean? ....I want to move on from this conversation.." Killer looked away again. "Of course." Horror nodded before delving into Killer's mouth again. In return, Killer made a delightful moan as they continued.
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Replaying from the beginning, I don't think I'll ever get over the fact that Astarion actually expected us to not immediately clock that he's a vampire. And I know this has been said before, but it's so hilarious.
He's over there, thinking himself suave and secretive, with such decor as...
A clearly bloody glass cup sitting right in front of his tent, in a puddle of blood, as the very first thing you see
another bloody goblet at his feet, with stains that do not look anything like wine on his white carpet
jars of blood inside his open tent, complete with a very clear bloodstain on the pallet under his bedroll
this clearly labeled bloodbank jar, covered in bloodstains, just on the table right next to him
this veritable dinner table napkin covered in blood, and of course, the pièce de résistance,
the fucking mirror in clear view, angled perfectly so that if he wasn't a vampire, you should be able to see his ass in it in premier plan when approaching from the campfire.
Not only is he very clearly a vampire, but he's also an excessively messy eater, which honestly makes the fact that he is only revealed on the third night a downright humiliating admonishment of the party's collective intelligence.
(Though, armed with the knowledge that he cannot seem to keep blood in his mouth, there is also some real potential here for the first act of physical tenderness he experiences in centuries to be the player character just... absently wiping a drop of their blood off his chin with their hand after a feeding.)
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